


Dark For All Of Me

by dorkery



Series: Hither Lies Our Fated Way [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Break Up, Colonialism, Colonization, Divorce, Fights, Iberian Union, M/M, Revolution, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As in all things, even the great Austro-Spanish Habsburg Empire must come to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Suuuper old and kind of terrible, but I wanted to slowly move things over to AO3.
> 
> [Here](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/2773.html) is the resource page with all the original notes and links.
> 
> [Here](http://www.mediafire.com/?u66oze97mreghs4) is a download to the shiny pdf.

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud

And goes down burning into the gulf below,

No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud

At what has happened. Birds, at least must know

It is the change to darkness in the sky.

Murmuring something quiet in her breast,

One bird begins to close a faded eye;

Or overtaken too far from his nest,

Hurrying low above the grove, some waif

Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.

At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!

Now let the night be dark for all of me.

Let the night be too dark for me to see

Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

 

Acceptance by Robert Frost

 

* * *

 

 

It was a relief to be away from the salty breeze that swept the ocean. His joints felt stiff and almost rusted no thanks to the salt, having experienced a rather limited range of movement throughout his journey. He had chosen to sail in order to avoid walking on accursed French soil, and so travelled through his new territory of North Italy. It had been flourishing better than anticipated and he was keen on keeping it that way; taking Italy with him was a move to strengthen their political ties and, perhaps with the destination in question, their personal ties. Loyalty was a virtue that never in abundance lacked, after all. He already had his hands full trying to reclaim Hungary. He didn’t need a coup to happen under his very nose.

Austria hated travelling, anyway. Now that his feet were planted firmly on blessed soil, he was more than eager to nestle himself comfortably in Spanish hospitality and refrain from leaving for as long as he could manage. Austria had foregone a coach, preferring to walk. Italy, his attendant and a subtle number of guards followed suit.

The land of Spain was, as he had imagined, rich and vibrant. He could smell the earth and all its history and culture, and as he closed his eyes, he heard it whisper to him, in tongues he both knew and did not know, speaking words that twisted like smoke and had no shape as he walked into the heart of the city. It was not a gold-paved land as the stories on the high seas oft espoused, but there was strength in its soul. It was a golden city that was recovering from economic ruin.

He noted that the people eyed him warily, eyes dulled from years of toil but still retaining a small _spark_ of something that might have resembled hope. Considering the tribulations of the past century, it would have almost seemed pathetic but that very spark was an echo of the nation from which they were born, giving them more resemblance to Spain than his own flesh and blood kin ever would. 

He felt a little self-conscious in his aristocratic finery but he maintained his upright persona and soon arrived at the seat of the Spanish nation – not the palace that once housed the Holy Roman Emperor, but a small castle in the wood, not quite visible to those who did not seek to find it, at the end of an even dirt path that led from an inconspicuous road from the docks. Nations, the ones in the midst of war at the very least, tended to live near the closest international ports. 

His arrival sparked a flurry of movement. The guards scrambled to attention and saluted, calling for the gate to be opened. Austria was not familiar to these lands but undoubtedly there must have hung a portrait of him within the walls. He approved of their alertness. Out of a preference for order and routine, Austria insisted upon the formality of presenting the royal crest of the House to the guards, even as footmen were already appearing to receive any luggage that they may be carrying. 

His attendant was already engaging them. Faintly, the rickety rasp of axles and stones could be heard from the path, a carriage filled with gifts and necessities. He left it to his entourage and walked into the castle with a disciplined snap to his step. Italy rushed after him, tripping over his feet.

“Make sure you behave yourself,” he reproached Italy firmly. “We are guests.”

“Yes!” Italy squeaked, fidgeting nervously even as she stood and neatened her gown.

Austria took a slow breath, straightened his jacket once and crossed the threshold.

Voices reached his ears before he even allowed his surroundings to sink in. They were rough, heated, and surprisingly recognisable. One of them, the more exasperated one, was Spain, he was certain. Austria looked around briefly, following the source of the voices until he had walked partway down a passage towards a room with a slightly ajar door. Servants who had been slowly cleaning around it, most likely to eavesdrop, caught sight of him with a start and hurried away. Austria frowned, vaguely aware that he knew some of those faces, and approached the door to knock.

The pair inside the room fell silent immediately. Austria pushed the door open.

“Good e’en.”

“Austria!” 

Two nearly identical men, one clad in blood red and the other in a forest green, stood apart from each other, as though they had just been split up from a fistfight though their clothes were not quite rumpled. One, the one who had vocalised his name, he recognised immediately. The other one took a minute before he finally realised who it was.

“What are you doing here?” Spain gently derailed his train of thought, already by his side, expression a mixture of immense surprise, delight and exhaustion. 

“You complain that I never visit you, so I thought I’d remedy that,” Austria’s reply was even and verbose, almost practiced. “Among other things.”

He glanced back, gesturing for Italy to enter.

Spain’s expression lit up like a lighthouse on a stormy night.

“H-Hello, Brother Spain.”

“Italy!” Spain was already tossing the little nation in the air, squeezing her tightly and cuddling her. “I haven’t seen you for _ever!_ You’re my little ray of sunshine! Are you hungry? The tomatoes will be ripening soon so we can make you pasta! Do you want to look around my castle? Do you want to play with Romano?”

“In due time,” Austria said blandly, letting out a huff. “I’d prefer it if we could settle in before reacquainting properly. The seas weren’t exactly kind.”

“You sailed?” Spain asked in awe. “You _hate_ sailing.”

“I hate France more.”

“Ugh, don’t say his name,” Spain grimaced and put Italy down. “He broke another promise. _Again_.”

“So I heard,” Austria raised his eyebrows. “I also heard that he’s been trying to sabotage your treaties with the Dutch.”

“Your _**what?**_ ”

The outburst had been livid, and both Austria and Spain were taken aback. The third man had been quiet all the while, and the violence of it was jarring. Spain turned and stepped before Austria to separate them, beseeching the man in a quiet voice.

“Please, Portugal, we have a guest…”

Portugal glared at Spain before swinging a hard, unfriendly gaze to Austria. His lips were set in a thin line, expression dark with ire, but he carefully reined in his anger and nodded stiffly to acknowledge the temporary peace. His expression was still disagreeable, as though he itched to cause a scene, but Austria was glad that he knew how to control himself. It was a surprise to see him so furious. Austria had always assumed that the extent of any possible rage he directed to Spain ended at fraternal irritation, considering how much he _admired_ Spain. He wondered if things had soured since they had last met.

Portugal had grown very much since then. He was as tall as Spain, taller even than Austria, body filled out with firm muscle and skin a dark shade of copper but fairer than his older counterpart who had been participant in many more wars abroad. Austria wondered if he was in his rebellious stage. Sudden growth spurts could do that sometimes, particularly when a figure of authority was involved. 

“Portugal,” Austria said with a faint smile. No matter how antagonistic Portugal may be, Austria’s memories and relationship with him was still fond. He hoped that Portugal would feel at better ease with him at the very least. “You’ve grown very handsome.”

It did seem to do the trick. His eyes lost its anger and his lips twitched into what could have been a smile. It was not warm, but it was no longer unfriendly. It was a relief to see that he still kept his manners. In lieu of immediate response, Portugal eyed the small Italian clutching to tail of Austria’s coat out of fear, who had been doing so since his outburst.

“… You look like a mother hen, Lord Austria.”

“Well, I’m glad you haven’t lost your cheek even after a century or so,” Austria arched a brow, expression dry and not at all happy with Italy’s clinging. Out of dignity, he refrained from kicking her off. He was in polite company. “It’s a wonder you haven’t made more enemies.”

Portugal rolled his eyes. “I make enemies even without opening my mouth.”

There may have been a hint of bitterness in his voice, but Austria chose to overlook it. 

“From what I’ve heard, that doesn’t seem to be much of a problem.”

“It depends on what you’ve heard.” And there, Austria finally saw the boy smirking through the words, with a chest that swelled subtly and a chin that rose by a notch. He had learnt how to be proud. “Because it tends to be a very big problem for the people fighting on the opposite end of the battlefield.”

He’d learnt to be smug, too.

Austria’s expression was amused. “I suppose you’ve finally been using your swordarm.”

“If you mean beyond signing treaties, then yes.” Portugal shook his head. “Unfortunately, my friends have been poisoned into rebellion.”

England. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s a topic I try not to think about too much,” Portugal replied warily. “But I don’t expect it to last very long. A few decades, at most.”

“You’ve been educated well.”

“I suppose.”

“My, is that modesty? After such bold conversation?”

“My lord,” Portugal eyed him, eyes not quite twinkling. “I would venture to question your ability to discern the quality of my education when your own seems lacking.”

Austria frowned. “Agreed. I take back what I said, your rudeness is overwhelmingly volatile.”

Portugal finally smirked. He glanced down pointedly to Austria’s legs. More specifically, to the Italian child whose lace-trimmed gown was caught in the more ornate embellishments of Austria’s coat and was struggling to untangle herself.

Austria felt his fingers twitch.

“If you were just a little younger, I’d have boxed your ears,” Austria said stiffly, flush with embarrassment as he remained still and glared at Italy to refrain from making it worse. He gestured sharply for his attendant to enter. He did so, bowing and gently kneeling by the pair, quickly working Italy out of her bind.

“You mean ‘shorter’, I’m sure.”

“Either. It matters little. I’m absolutely certain now your tongue fights more wars than your blade.”

“You’re probably right. _And_ it wins more, too.”

“Hardly becoming of an empire,” Austria grumbled.

“You’re just as stiff as I remember,” Portugal finally laughed, sincerely. “I wondered if old age would change you.”

Pleased that Portugal had finally relaxed but still rather miffed at being on the receiving end of his verbal jabs, Austria’s response was prim and righteously indignant.

“I’d say you aged much more than I in these years apart.”

“That is true,” Portugal said agreeably, hands on his hips as he scanned himself briefly. His mantle partially cloaked his figure, draped across one shoulder. “Handsomely, so you said.”

“Unfortunately, rather. Had I known about your attitude, I would have refrained.”

“Come now,” his smirk was devilish, like a rogue, and Austria could already tell that he was popular with the womenfolk. Like Spain, it was obvious that he was a natural charmer. _Unlike_ Spain, he was well aware of it, and likely exercised it, often, and to his advantage. Austria groaned inwardly and hoped to the high heavens that he would not grow into a quasi-France-and-Prussia. The headaches he’d have to deal with.

“Appearances do deceive,” Austria finally relented. “You are still young.”

“I cannot be expected to be an adult all of the time. Wars are adult. You do not see children stoking feuds,” Portugal complained.

“I might also add that children cannot raise other children.”

Portugal frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That I hope you are far more responsible around your colonies.”

“You needn’t even wonder,” Portugal scoffed, affronted. 

“Oh, all right. You are far more trustworthy than any number of nations I care to mention.”

“Thank you,” Portugal smiled in satisfaction.

“Speaking of your colonies, how is that favourite of yours? The one you brought to visit… Malaya?”

It had been the wrong thing to say. Portugal bristled almost immediately and any trace of warmth he may have conceded to Austria disappeared totally.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Portugal almost growled. “Please excuse me.” He bowed and walked out the room, closing it behind him with almost a slam.

Spain sighed.

“I’m sorry. He’s angry about the Battle of the Downs. You might want to refrain from mentioning anything related to Holland for a while… that includes Malaya and most of his other colonies.”

Austria’s gaze lingered on the door from which Portugal had just left. It had been ajar before, but now it was sealed shut and they had some measure of privacy for as long as they did not shout. He turned to Spain and approached slowly, voice even, used enough to domestic conflict to be able to act without too much concern for the state of the house.

“There are many rumours on the seas,” he said. “I was hoping they weren’t true.”

“Some of them aren’t,” Spain replied, voice tinged with exasperation. 

“Are they the important ones?”

“Most of them are nowadays.”

“Hmm,” Austria frowned thoughtfully, absently running his hand along the fine carvings of the frame of a chair. It looked very Italian, and he briefly remembered the counterpart to his own servant, another reason for the visit. Now that he had the time to look around, he found that he was in the drawing room. There were wine glasses on a nearby table, a ragged map of the charted world framed on the wall and a number of books in untidy piles by certain chairs. He was about to say something when the door burst open and a lanky teenager, face red and flushed, came into view, panting slightly as thought having just run a small distance. His eyes swivelled from Spain to Austria and the apologies tumbled out.

“I beg pardon my lords, I was not even aware that the entourage from Austria had come. The horses were loose-”

“Demetrio, calm down,” Spain interrupted lightly, and Austria was happy to see the smile returning to his face, worry-worn though it was. 

Austria crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly as he inspected the teenager. He had a mature look, but in his current panicked condition, his age revealed itself.

“Ah, he’s my new attendant. His name is Demetrio.”

Austria turned to meet Spain’s eyes.

“Juan is dead, I take it.”

“Beloved Juan,” Spain shook his head and drew the cross over his chest. “The French took him, God have mercy on his soul.” 

“It is rare that we receive new attendants at the same time,” Austria smiled wistfully. He gestured to his own attendant who was dutifully holding onto Italy’s hand as they stood quietly to the side of the room. “This is Rolf’s son, Ernst. The plague claimed Rolf.”

“He was old,” Spain offered politely. Austria’s attendant merely nodded.

Silenced reigned momentarily until Spain let out another sigh, this one more dramatic, and unclipped his mantle, tossing it over a nearby ottoman. 

“I’ve had enough talk of war and death. Since Italy’s here, Romano must come out so they can play. I’ve received some marvellous beans from the New World, Austria, chocolate, and you must try it. Demetrio, make Romano presentable and bring him down to the gardens. I feel like cocido madrileño and horchata today.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Take Vargas along – she will want to see her brother.” 

“Yes, my lord.”

Their attendants and Italy left the room together, and, having assumed they were out of earshot, Austria clearly heard Italy pleading to his own attendant as well as the ensuing laughter that accompanied Italy being picked up and carried down the hall. Thereafter Spain’s attendant spoke solely, animatedly, until his voice diminished and altogether vanished.

“I suppose we’ll have to organise the sleeping arrangements.”

Austria raised his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t aware that I was suddenly demoted to the guestroom.”

“Promoted, Austria,” Spain smiled wryly. 

“As we have in my house, we share a single room.”

“My chambers are embarrassingly scarce these days.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Austria-”

“This is a _personal_ visit, you fool. There are no politics between us.”

Spain seemed at a loss. With a well-placed glare, he finally nodded in concession.

“Romano sleeps with me nowadays, but… I suppose I could get someone else to take care of him during your stay.”

This time, both Austria’s eyebrows shot up.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, someone else can probably take care of Romano while you…”

“No, I heard that. I just… never mind.”

“…what?”

Austria wrestled against the urge to sigh. He wondered if Spain truly was that dense or did this specifically to aggravate him. 

_Kindness is cruelty._

He had given Romano to him nearly a century ago. He really ought to have been used to the idea that Spain could show some favouritism towards a colony or two by now, but the Italian Wars and Spain’s blood fever were a stain on his memory he wasn’t likely to forget for a very long time. Austria shook his head to dispel the thoughts. There was no point in revolving around the past when he couldn’t profit from it.

“I’m just tired from the journey.”

“Of course! I’ll escort you to my room. There should be some wine there so you can drink some before you rest. As it is, I need to meet with some of my captains. I’m afraid I won’t be able to spend much time with you while you’re here.”

“That’s fine,” Austria nodded. He had expected as much. “We are in the midst of war, after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

_”Kindness is cruelty.”_

_Spain looked up at him, bare-naked as his bronze skin shimmered from sweat under the moonlight. His expression was relaxed, almost drowsy, but now held a mite of confusion within it._

_“What?”_

_“You told me that kindness is cruelty to colonies. Remember?”_

_“Austria,” Spain groaned. “Unless you move, I’m not going to remember anything.”_

_“This is important, Spain.”_

_“Finish me off and we can talk about it,” he strained, grinding back against Austria. “Because the only thing on my mind right now is the fact that you’re not moving and I’m not coming.”_

_As Austria held him down by the damp tightness of his skin and watched him surrender to ecstasy, he couldn’t help but think that the few times Spain made incredible amounts of sense was when he wanted to give into the unintelligibility of coitus. They lay together on the twisted sheets after the final echo of climax, limbs entangled and heavy now. Spain’s eyes were closed as he caught his breath and Austria feared he would fall asleep._

_“Tell me now,” he murmured, running a hand through Spain’s sweat-drenched hair._

_Spain let out a slow sigh, reluctant to think, let alone speak._

_“About what?”_

_“Your cruelty to South Italy.”_

_Spain opened his eyes, met Austria’s, held his gaze._

_“…it’s not cruelty.”_

_“He’s a prince in your home,” Austria said with a degree of frustration. “You govern with an iron fist. Peru submits to you in fear. I cannot comprehend it.”_

_“Romano… Romano is special.”_

_“How?”_

_“… this is really embarrassing, Austria. Can we not talk about it?”_

_“I want to know.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Are you really, really sure?”_

“Spain _.”_

__

_Spain sighed again, rolling over so that he lay on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. He did not speak for a long time, and Austria suspected he had truly gone to sleep then. He rested a hand on his back, about to lightly shake him awake when he heard a muffled voice address him._

__

_And Spain told Austria._

__

_The subsequent embarrassment gave way to a comforting embrace of soft, reassuring whispers and kisses that led to slow, hot touches that coaxed Spain to climb on top of him and press their bodies together again, one, two more times until they were spent for the night. His words were sweeter forever after that night, marking his kisses with a honey Austria could not explain and wresting away the bitter unease that marred his perception of Spain’s treatment of South Italy, of Romano._

__

_Truth be told, from the outset Austria was relieved to see that Spain could find it in him to love a colony._


	3. Chapter 3

Austria opened his eyes blearily.

The room was dim and cold, as drafty as a castle should be, and his body ached a little. He sat up on the bed. He was partially dressed, having loosened up with a little wine and dozed off. 

It was very late and Spain was nowhere in sight.

“If he’s sleeping in another room, I swear…” Austria muttered quiet threats to himself, buttoning up his shirt but forgoing his jacket even if he was a little cold. He deliberated the prudence of a candle, but upon peering out the room, he saw that lit torches ran along the dark corridors. 

He walked until he found himself returning to the threshold of the castle. It was almost deathly still, but muffled voices broke the silence and he followed them in hopes of cornering a servant or two.

There was a loud crash, the sound of breaking porcelain, and it took him back to the drawing room.

“What the _hell_ do you take me for!”

“Portugal, we have a _guest_. It’s nothing more than that, please.”

“That is no fucking excuse! I am _sovereign_ , Spain. I control the spice trade. I fight your fucking wars. And I do it because we are _kin_. We are of one _house_. And you dare treat me like a colony? A fucking _colony!_ ”

He flung a chair aside and it broke into pieces as it marked the walls angrily.

“You know I think of you as my brother-”

“Liar! You never thought of me as your brother! Even now, you see me as nothing more than a mere _province_ in your ‘Great Empire’. You boldly tell me to turn against my friends and fight your fights, orders I obey like a _fool_ , and when I return, you tell me to share my quarters with protectorates to _nurse_ them? _Do you know who the fuck I am?_ ”

“Portugal!”

“And then you have the cheek to treat with Holland? _**Holland!**_ ” He roared the name angrily, upending a table and kicking aside a small tray filled with wine glasses. He grabbed another chair and threw it towards Spain, who dodged quickly enough but the splinters from its destruction caught his cheek and made him bleed even if he did not feel it.

“How _dare_ you! You know exactly where Holland stands with me! What the _fuck_ was the Battle of the Downs for? What the _fuck_ has all of this been for? If France didn’t botch your negotiations, you’d invite that bastard to this house for wine and churros! If you were going to treat with him, do it from the very start and _tell him to keep the fuck away from what’s mine!_ ”

“We’re losing the war!” Spain tried to regain some control in the conversation. “I have no _choice_ , Portugal. I’ve been fighting him for nearly a century and I’m stretched too thin. My economy’s in ruins and I’m caught between him and France on too many fronts.”

“Oh, you want to talk economy!” Portugal let out a sharp laugh. “You want to talk about how your people have nothing and take from _mine_. You want to talk about rerouting trade so that you can feed mouths that eat from my rice bowls. You want to talk about fighting too many fronts, half of which I am defending for your sake.” 

“Portugal, I have _tried_ but you know it’s out of my hands-”

“I _deluded_ myself with the idea that you would only acknowledge me when I stand as your equal, so I fight and train and expand my own empire in hopes that you’d shower me with praise and affection. Do you know how mortifying it is to work so hard for your acknowledgement, to draw my sword for centuries and then to learn that it makes no difference whatsoever? Now that I have achieved greatness, nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change. I feel disgusted for ever trying to seek your approval, for _admiring_ you and _aspiring_ to be like you. I never want to be like you. _I never want to be like you._ ”

He spat on Spain’s shoes.

“You _whoreson._ ”

The room was silent. Seconds ticked by until the sound of glass crunched under a shoe filled the void.

“From this day forward, I will never call you brother again. I proclaim my independence from your house.”

“I can’t accept this, Portugal. Not like this.”

“Too bad.”

Portugal threw his mantle over his shoulders as he slammed the door open and strode down the hall, missing Austria who had been standing behind the other, ajar door. The force he had used on it was sure to leave marks on the fine carvings in the stone wall behind it, and Austria cringed to think of what may have happened if had been behind it instead. More doors slammed in the echo of night and Austria carefully extracted himself from his hiding place, wondering whether he should make his presence known. He peered into the room wordlessly and saw Spain bending over the broken wood and glass that littered the floor, cradling something small in both his hands. His expression was blank as he traced the small jewel encrusted ring in his hand, stared at it dully as though he couldn’t quite comprehend that he was holding it. He closed his fingers around it and pressed it against his forehead, as though blessing it.

Austria felt ashamed. This was deeply private. He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping from the very beginning, but he had, and now he was witnessing something he should not even know of. However, Spain was not trembling or shaking by any means. He calmly began to gather the remnants of whatever was strewn across the floor, having pocketed the ring, and lest Austria submit to even more shameful proclivities, he left as quickly and as soundlessly as he could.  
Once in Spain’s chambers, he disrobed and put on the tunic he usually wore for sleep, hesitating over the decision to pick up a book or to crawl under the covers. He debated briefly before deciding against a lit candle, folding his spectacles and placing them in a case on the table. He lay down on the bed, back to the door, on the side closest to a wall so that he was facing a large window with curtains that were not drawn all the way. It was a moonless night.

He could not sleep.

He tried to count the stars in the little sliver of sky through the veiled darkness of his unfocused squint, but nothing would soothe him. He wasn’t calm enough for rest. He refused to toss or turn as it was unrefined, but whenever he opened his eyes again, the shadows of night did not change. Time was inching slowly. He was consumed.

It explained how little he heard by way of footsteps, but the door yawning open was like a gunshot to him. He heard tired feet dragging across the floor, clothes rustling as they were abandoned in favour of sleepwear, and the mattress creaking to one side with the weight of another person.

Austria’s throat was dry, so he swallowed. “You’re late.” He prayed for normalcy in his voice.

There was no response, no verbal response. Instead, he felt an arm wrapping around him as Spain nestled against his back, nose pressed against the nape of his neck. Spain intertwined their fingers together. His breaths were slow and hot against Austria’s skin.

“…Are you all right?” 

It wasn’t a question he had to ask at all, but for the sake of pretence, he did.

Spain shook his head briefly but otherwise did not move. Austria didn’t pursue it further; it was enough of a pretence for now. Spain was asleep in moments.

Austria followed suit shortly after.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning in the castle was incredibly busy, but Spain refused to comment on it so Austria asked no questions. For the first time, Spain had been the one to rise earlier but the exhaustion that had depleted the usual energy and cheer was still there. He was unwell, after all, not from a blood fever but from an economic cold that was just as bad in different ways. He was aching in his side more than usual, too. Whereas Austria might have attributed it to old age during a lighter moment, they knew full well it was because of domestic violence within the kingdom. _Portugal_ and _Catalonia_ were unspoken words that lingered in the oppressive atmosphere.

Though his curiosity burned with regards to the servants who were packing and moving out – some of them resisting the move with some degree of confusion – Austria soon recognised Brazil, one of the jewels of the New World that had been touted to the other European powers upon his capture, and came to realise that the castle was undergoing a ‘reshuffling’. Portugal had left. It was only natural for him to take his colonies along. He wanted to offer more comfort to Spain, but their intimacy could not extend beyond the bedchambers. Spain hadn’t given him the permission to, either, withholding the words _Portugal is gone_ and denying Austria the right to envelop Spain in empathy.

It was a fine line to tread, but Austria knew that he had to chance some things.

“I don’t see Portugal anywhere this morning,” he offered cautiously.

Spain’s expression had been tense and guarded all morning, even through his smile, and it did not waver even as he said, “Portugal’s gone back to his house for a while.”

“I see,” Austria replied simply. Spain did not recognise the separation.

They ate breakfast in relative quiet.

A little after, they were outside in the castle grounds, sprawled on the crisp grass on a relatively shady day. Italy and Romano had been dressed in matching play clothes and the sight brightened Spain considerably. He took turns tossing them up into the air and tickling them on his lap, chattering about something inane like levels of cuteness.

Austria noticed the sour expression on Romano’s face and that cooled his tension. He recalled complaints from the day South Italy had been handed over to Spain through a myriad of letters and war briefings, the latter of which often caused some friction between their army captains over their exchange of ‘old wives’ gossip’ instead of planning attacks and counterattacks like they were supposed to. He’d led Spain by the hand plenty of times, and since Austria considered his contribution to the union with regards to his success in the Italian Wars insurmountable, he decided that Spain could afford to suffer the hurdles of parenthood by himself.

It was a little cruel, but well worth the entertainment value… _particularly_ since Spain had taken to spoiling the brat instead of disciplining him like Austria had hoped, nay, expected he would. 

Austria had brought Italy up well. Spain would have to deal with Romano’s jealousy on his own.

It was a little out of place, however, to see the sourness on Romano’s face tighten even when Spain turned his attention to him. Usually it morphed into a degree of embarrassment that he tried to cover up with rudeness but he was more quiet than usual and words were a little biting. Thankfully, Spain was dense so he didn’t notice it.

As he pinched Romano’s cheeks, Spain’s attendant suddenly ran into view. They barely had time to register who he was, or that Austria’s attendant had trailed behind him, when he let loose three words breathlessly.

“They’ve penetrated Rocroi.”

That one moment of silence that it took to properly digest the message was one of ashen incredulity as Spain leapt to his feet, sending Romano tumbling to the grass from his lap. They boy had opened his mouth to complain but the expression on Spain’s face was ominous and he dared not say a word.

“Where is the second captain? Why isn’t he the one reporting this to me!”

Chainmail and leather sounded and another person was by his side immediately, as though summoned. He saluted.

“My apologies, Your Lordship!”

“What’s happened?”

“Duc d’Enghien, my lord. 17,000 infantry. 6,000 cavalry. 14 guns.”

 _France._ “Who’s being sent?”

“General de Melo, my lord.”

“Melo…” Spain muttered. “He won Honnecourt last year, didn’t he?”

“Yes, my lord. Also against the French.”

Spain fell silent, thinking. He didn’t have much time.

His side _ached_ suddenly. He gripped it, biting back a grimace.

“All right. We’ll outnumber them. Mobilise the army at Flanders, everyone who’s positioned north. Set up a tercio formation and _end_ this godforsaken war.”

“My lord!”

Spain turned to the Italies and Austria, smiling half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got something to do. Please have dinner without me.”

“When will you be back?” Austria found himself asking without meaning to.

Spain’s smile flickered lightly but returned full force in all its airiness. 

“I fight with all I have. With any luck, maybe the day after the fighting begins.”

Austria smoothed the creases in the front of his breeches, eyes downcast.

“You are sure?”

“I’m hoping,” Spain admitted with a shrug. He glanced briefly at the Italies, wanting to say more, but refraining. He knew better than to discuss warfare in front of these particular colonies. Everything depended on their positions, and he’d heard some unconfirmed rumours about the strength of France’s cavalries. Rumours he didn’t like in the least. 

“In any case, France is asking for a beating and I’m happy to deliver.”  
“Perhaps I should follow,” Austria said hesitantly, making to stand but Spain placed both hands on his shoulders and forced him down. Austria met his eyes and saw a bright smile in place.

“You’re on holiday. Don’t worry, I’ll toss a rock at his head and say it’s from you.”

Austria smiled faintly at that, expression still somewhat wary.

“You are _sure?_ ”

“Weren’t you the one who said he didn’t like repeating himself?” Spain laughed. “The First Army hasn’t failed me yet and I don’t expect them to now. I’m fortifying them with mercenaries, just in case. And if – _if_ – by chance we do fail, and I really hope we don’t, well…” Spain sighed lightly. “We’ll chalk it up to divine providence.”

Austria didn’t look comforted by the idea in the least.

“You do know that you can’t afford to fail, don’t you?” He asked quietly.

Spain shook his head and glanced briefly at the Italies. “I have to go.”

“Spain…”

“Enjoy dinner,” Spain said sunnily, even though the smile had lapsed from his face and gave way to a far more honest expression of wry grimness. “For my sake.”

And with that, he left.

Austria looked troubled even as he attempted to behave as he normally did. His Italy was blessedly clueless regarding the conversation and acted the part. Unfortunately, Romano was a different story altogether.

“He’s fighting France, isn’t he?” Romano asked gruffly. Austria regarded him with a wary eye. 

“That’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”

“He is,” Romano replied resolutely, knowingly, voice bitter. “He’s probably going to lose, too.”

“Watch your tongue,” Austria said warningly. “Sedition is grounds for a beating.”

Romano closed his mouth and glared lightly, but did as he was told. The remnants of the afternoon were spent playing with Italy, and nothing more was said through dinner. 

Dinner was tasteless.


	5. Chapter 5

Spain felt his armour cracking underneath an unseen pressure that all at once pushed down on him and expanded under his skin, suffocating him. He could barely breathe but it was a situation he found himself used to with alarming frequency in these long years of war. Even when Spain did not lead the charge himself, he felt the battle as no other soldier ever would.

He could _hear_ his armour chipping and creaking from where he stood, yawning dangerously with each tremble and vibration as he felt the French cavalry fell his men. The sensations seared through his body, burned behind his eyes. His arms were shaking as he tightened his grip on his battleaxe, held it taut before him. Tense. Stiff. Sore. His vision was starting to slide in and out of focus but he remained steady. He didn’t break the ranks. He held the line.

Gunshots rang out amidst the screams and he felt the dull _thud_ that accompanied bodies falling to the ground, soldier after Spanish soldier. The ache in his side began to grow, blossoming outward and slowly trailing fire onto his very flesh, a scorching burn that screamed agony even when Spain himself would not. Could not. 

He opened bloodshot eyes and saw through the wobbly mirage of battle only France’s grim smirk.

The mercenaries were fleeing. Mercenaries he almost hissed were it not for the fact that he was desperately trying to hold himself together and keep the rest of the army strong. _Let them run_. The Germans and Italians and Walloons didn’t have the pride of the first army. They didn’t fight as the first army fought. They didn’t share the same blood as Spain, that of the conqueror, the warrior, the fighter. 

His armour crunched apart with a sudden eruption, barely held together now by the fine threads of chainmail that served as seams. Any well-aimed attack would rip it apart totally, critically injuring the body it barely protected, but it still held. The crux of the army was still strong, could not fall, would not fall, refused to fall.

There was a roar. A command.

Another cavalry charge. Another round of gunfire. Another wave of attack.

Spain braced himself and held the line even as Spanish bodies littered the ground, men to his left and right and behind him absorbing the gunfire and the blades and falling, blood tainting their dead skin and hollow eyes. Spain staggered as a shell caught him in the ribs, blasting apart the pain and multiplying it tenfold. He grit his teeth, tasting blood as it spilled from his lips, dribbling down his chin, and he gripped his axe again with shaking hands, holding the line. All he could do was hold the line.

 _Spain_ , the voice echoed over the din of battle. _Surrender and you may yet live._

No. No. No. He would hold the line. He would reinforce the tercios. He would remain _strong_. He was the heart of the Spanish Army of Flanders. This was _his_ army. The best of his men.

No. Spain’s eyes were clouded, vision distorted by tears that _would not, could not_ fall. From the pain of forcing himself to remain standing. From the anger of desertion, _god damned mercenarie_ s. From the hole that had been ripped in his body from the arquebuses and French sabers. 

He absorbed more gunfire, body recoiling from the shocks, but he forced himself to remain standing. This was his pride. He could not fall. Could not. Could not. No.

The smoke cleared and there was a lull in the cadence of battle. A sobering hush.

Spain was the only one standing now.

No.

_No._

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, forced himself to be still. His armour fell apart with the sharpest, vilest _crack_ he had ever heard in his life and every ounce of pain that he had been bearing overwhelmed him all at once, forcing the tears out. His eyes snapped open as he gasped silently, blood gurgling out in chokes and his limbs could hold him up no more. Sky and earth and bodies blended all at once as he slowly fell, knees buckling underneath him. The tremors did not cease even after he collapsed.

The Battle of Rocroi was lost.


	6. Chapter 6

Austria tossed his mantle aside vehemently, striding past servants who were trying to take his sword and armour. He bypassed the audience chambers and walked straight towards the war room, throwing the doors open with a sizeable force, startling all the captains and officers who were making plans around an oversized map. He was in a terrible humour.

“Bavaria?” He demanded sharply. “Bavaria has become _neutral?_ ”

 _My lord_ echoed throughout the room, a collection of surprise and grimness.

“Before you speak further, my lord, there is someone you should see,” the third captain spoke hurriedly. Austria narrowed his eyes at him, but nodded, permitting the gesture. A partially armoured man stood forward and bowed deeply. Behind him were a group of officers. They had the Bavarian banner stitched onto their vestments, looking well worn from a long journey. The leading man stood and Austria could make out his face in the dim of the war room. He studied him.

“You,” Austria said after a moment. “You are Johann von Werth. Wherefore came you here?”

“The Treaty of Ulm, my lord,” he said, and Austria’s immediate response was further narrowed eyes.

“What of it?” He snapped.

“We feel the Elector’s actions were uncalled for, my lord. I have an army of men who have been reduced to inaction in the midst of a great war. We wish to fight.”

“At this rate the only army you’re allowed to fight is the Imperial army, with those colours on your sleeve. But that would be treason,” Austria snorted, turning his back on them and encircling the map. “Peace with the French and the Swedes,” he raised his voice, venom unable to escape his words. “You _have_ no enemy to fight. Bavaria may as well dismantle her army and focus on the crops. I hear the Elector’s burnt his mills again.”

“Please do not mock Bavaria, my lord,” Werth said calmly. “Bavaria’s strength lies in her men, not her masters.”

“Oh? Then you have come here with a proposal.”

“We will defect to the Imperial army.”

Austria’s eyes widened and his laugh was incredulous.

“Treason! That is your proposal? That is ridiculous!”

“The Emperor approves.”

“The _Emperor_ ,” Austria echoed, laughing briefly before he grabbed the nearest thing in reach – a vase – and threw it against the stone wall, shattering it into pieces. The room fell deathly still, silent, cold. The officers exchanged uneasy glances, feeling the earth tremble lightly under their feet, with the lamps flickering out slowly even though there was no wind. Austria took in slow breaths, closing his eyes, calming himself down, and soon, the room returned to its original state. After a moment or so, he stood upright and turned to the men, expression as sober as usual.

“This plan of yours, when do you intend to put it into effect?”

“It has already begun, my lord.”

Austria fell silent momentarily and then let out a sigh, shaking his head.

“Do what you feel you must. If the Emperor, foolish man he is, says it is right, then it is right. Though I can hardly believe he would do this to the man to whom he owes the coffers of the Holy Roman Empire.” 

“Thank you, my lord.”

Austria regarded his captains with a wary eye. “I will hear nothing of this until there are decisive results.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Austria took his leave, exiting the war room with a clipped step. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sharp breath. In no way would this end well. He could already foresee the French forces marching across the land, ravaging everything in sight once word of the betrayal leaked out. If Saxe-Weimar’s alliance with the French wasn’t bad enough, Bavaria’s neutrality was the nail in the Imperial coffin. He had no idea what the Emperor was thinking, betraying the Bavarian Elector, but politics were politics. 

Fresh air was divine providence, he felt, and it cooled his head immensely. Summer was giving way to a crisp autumn and the winds smelled of it. Austria grasped with both hands the banister running along the outside of one of the smaller porches of the castle and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze float through the grounds. Simple pleasures, he had come to learn, were indispensible for the state of one’s well being. In this age of relentless war and God, they were perhaps more important than anything he had ever known.

He heard the Italies walking through the gardens together, his own Italy holding a light hearted one-sided conversation with her surly brother who had become increasingly irate of late. They had both grown a little taller since the Italian Wars and he fancied the thought that they would, hopefully, soon approach puberty, signifying some much-needed growth in this rather _bankrupt_ age. His Italy would before Romano, naturally, as girls tended to mature faster, but he had a deep set feeling in his bones that Italy would never quite match up to her brother in terms of intelligence. It wasn’t necessarily a downside, but it was something he would have to keep in mind.

They came into view and he watched them sit together wordlessly on the grass when a telltale trumpet sounded, signalling the return of the castle’s lord. He straightened his back, gaze swinging to the forest path in hopes of glimpsing a marching army, but there was nothing. What he heard, however, was the sturdy trot of a battle steed. And soon, it came into view.

 

Upon the back of a black-as-night stallion was a heavily battered and bruised Spain, hunched over with fatigue, barely holding onto the reins. Austria could not see the blood that soaked through his red battle regalia from such a distance, but a cold and unwelcome feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Spain’s head drooped further and his entire body weighed down heavily to the side, sliding him clean off the saddle and sending him hurtling to the ground.

Austria barely realised that he had jumped the banister and rushed across the grounds to Spain, hoisting the nation onto his lap and cradling his head in his arms. 

“Spain! _Spain!_ ”

He shook Spain, no gentleness in the gesture because he could see just how thoroughly _beaten_ Spain looked. Cut lip, black eye, trails of dried blood clinging stubbornly to his skin, but more importantly, the utter exhaustion of a depleted soul. He wasn’t responding to anything, immobile no thanks to battle fatigue, and that frightened Austria the most. Spain could hold his own in a fight, he always had. Even when he lost, even when England held him prisoner in the days of piracy, he had never once looked defeated.

_Defeated._

What a terrifying word.

Austria didn’t realise the crowd of servants and soldiers he had drawn calling out Spain’s name frantically. When they pried Spain from his arms, he came to his senses, halting his struggles and allowing them to quickly take him into the castle to be treated. His arms fell uselessly to his lap, and even when his attendant was by his side urging him to enter as well, he only felt the hollowness of knowing that there was fresh blood on his hands and that everything was going to hell.

He paced restlessly as the physician assessed the extent of Spain’s injuries, ignoring Italy’s meek attempts at cheering him up and the tea that had been brought to the antechamber for him to drink. It was taking entirely too long and Austria wanted very badly to just enter the chamber, but he knew that until the physician was done, he would only be in the way, so he remained outside.

The door creaked open. Austria was in front of it in a heartbeat.

“He’s awake,” Spain’s attendant said quietly. “His injuries are very serious and, well, if His Lordship were an ordinary human he’d have died a long time ago. As it stands, he’ll recover with rest and clean water and regular baths.”

“I’d like to enter,” Austria said, nervousness tingeing his voice.

The attendant thought this over. “Of course, my lord. Please, come in.”

Inside the bedchamber, Spain was sitting up against the bed’s headboard, propped up with pillows. The blanket had been pulled up to cover his stomach but no higher due to his sitting position. He was wearing nothing but a thin, threadbare shirt over the multitude of bandages that almost completely covered his entire torso and upper arms, shirt askew enough that Austria could see the faintest splotch of crimson right above where his heart was.

Most importantly, awake, Spain’s eyes still had that small, rebellious spark, even if he looked exhausted for all the world. Austria sat on the bed, reaching across the sheets for Spain’s hand, which he grasped comfortingly. 

“He beat the crap out of me in Rocroi,” Spain began drowsily, a self-depreciating smile on his face. “And then Portugal suddenly called me out to fight. I did a number on him but I couldn’t really… I mean, he’s my brother, and…”

Spain faltered. Austria patted his hand coaxingly. “Go on.”

“I ran into France in Orbitello after that.” A smug look crossed Spain’s face briefly. “I gave him a full course ass kicking then.”

“You look worse for wear from it,” Austria replied with a nod.

“I bet I do, huh,” Spain grimaced lightly. “I’ve been on a losing streak lately so it feels great to get a hard-earned win, even if it’s small. When I was outnumbered. _Again._ ”

“I wonder why that happens so often when you’re unprepared,” Austria smiled faintly. “Maybe you should just ride into battle next time with two arqubusiers and a cavalryman and you’ll end up winning the entire war.”

“Oh, very funny,” Spain snorted. His expression took on a slightly dreamy edge. “Though that would be great, wouldn’t it?”

“If you try it, I won’t pick what’s left of you up off the floor like I did today,” Austria said warningly. Spain’s response, oddly enough, was a slow sigh. His gaze slid to the wall and became transfixed on the horizon through the window, wordless as he twined his fingers with Austria’s. They remained silent for a few minutes before Spain finally spoke again.

“Rocroi… is still a loss. I don’t think I’ll forget it for as long as I live; my armour, my best armour… it’s…” Spain had to stop for a moment to steady himself. He closed his eyes and sighed again. “But I’ve lived through enough wars to deal with it. It is what it is. I just hope I won’t have to stay in bed for too long or I’ll miss the chance for some real revenge.”

Spain smiled at Austria and Austria’s lips quirked, privately relieved to see that his optimism, though tarnished, had not disappeared. He stroked the back of Spain’s hand with his thumb, about to make an offer of something nice and warm to eat when a quivering voice filled the room.

“Is that all you have to say?”

They turned to the doorway, not realising it had been ajar all this while.

“Your best army gets beaten by that French bastard and all you do is smile like an idiot and say ‘oh well’? Do you know what they’re saying about you? Do you even care?”

“Romano,” Spain began with a strained smile, an attempt at cheer. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong?_ ” Romano echoed, livid, and Italy had to physically hold him back with a worried cry. “Your armada was supposed to be invincible and then you get beaten by _England_. Your armies were supposed to be unbeatable and then you get trounced by France. And what about that Turkish bastard? You’re still asking what’s wrong?”

Spain paled. 

“… Romano, how did you know about-”

“Is that all you can do? Just sit around with that stupid look on your face while people call you an empire on the verge of collapse? You chased Portugal away! Portugal was the one who held us together while you were gone! He was the one who told all of us to believe in you and your stupid armies! And now he’s gone! You know what France told me? He told me the only reason why you keep fighting is to hide how weak you are and how you can’t hold onto anything. And he’s _right._ ”

“Romano, what are you saying?” Spain asked weakly, the smile slipping away.

“I hate you!” Romano cried, grabbing the scarf from his hair and tossing it to the ground, stomping down on it. “Portugal and France were right about you! You don’t care about anything anymore! All you care about are your stupid wars and your stupid armies! All you want to do is collect more colonies so that you can say that your empire is the biggest! You go on and on about how much you want Veneziano, don’t you? Well you can’t have Veneziano! And you can’t have me either! And you won’t get a single bit of grandpa’s inheritance if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Romano, wait!”

“I hate you, I hate you! I’m leaving and I won’t come back even if you beg me to! You’re the worst boss in the world and I’m glad France beat you, just like he said he would!”

Romano shoved Italy aside and bolted out the door. 

The entire room was still, rendered mute with shock. 

Austria was holding Spain back, keeping him in bed. Italy was unaware that she was crying as she stared at the doorway from where she had toppled to the ground. The physician and servants glanced at each other uneasily, and Austria wordlessly dismissed them with a sharp nod. Austria’s attendant picked Italy up and began to comfort her with gentle strokes to her back as they left the room. The door closed fast behind them.

“Spain,” he said softly, once they were alone, grasping his upper arms. “Speak to me.”

Spain’s sole response was a shake of his head. His eyes had been wide with surprise but now they were dark, almost mournful, and downcast. He refused to meet Austria’s concerned gaze, mouth open and wanting to say something, but being unable to. He was trembling subtly, as if he was holding something back, and Austria felt a weight crush down on him and suffocate him. It was something he had thought he had been able to circumvent. He gripped Spain’s face in both his hands and forced the other man to look him in the eye.

“It’s not over,” he insisted desperately. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“He’s gone,” Spain croaked listlessly.

“Take him back!” Austria almost shouted. “He’s just a child, he’s being rebellious!”

“You heard him. Romano’s not _stupid_ ,” Spain replied. 

“But he’s emotional. Please, Spain, no, you can’t surrender now. Look at me. _Listen_ to me,” Austria gripped his face again, stroking his cheek, gaze searching, earnest. He bit his lower lip when he saw that look on his face and had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “Spain. You cannot give in. You’ve been brought down time and again, but you’ve never once given in. You cannot let a moment of weakness hold you back. You are not fighting just one enemy. Look at what France has done to your house. Look. You cannot give in. You have to fight this.”

“No,” Spain closed his eyes. “I’m tired of fighting.”

“ _Spain_.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Spain’s voice cracked. He buried his face in his hands. Austria promptly wrapped his arms around him and embraced him tightly, soothing him quietly. Tears never came, but Austria knew just how deep the injury ran. He knew Spain had tried, had tried so hard, but even Austria realised when to acknowledge total and utter defeat. Romano had struck him when he was most vulnerable, and Austria was going to make sure France was paid in full for the injury.

Overnight, Spain had lost his fire. He was listless and quiet, aimless and so utterly defeated that he even went so far as to agree to end eighty years of war with the Dutch, all more or less according to their terms. Holland, who hated Spain with a passion, even seemed a little concerned at the ready subservience Spain granted as they listed condition after condition for him to dispute. He accepted them all without a hitch. Holland had half-expected some sort of turnaround on the side of the Spanish, some trap for them to pull, but none came. Spain was silent throughout the meeting and, before the hour had even struck noon, the treaty had been signed. With just that, the Dutch were free.

Austria couldn’t take seeing him like that.

For the first and last time, he would take matters into his own hands.

Romano was a child yet and therefore pathetically easy to locate. Threaten them the right way and Italians would babble secrets even about their own mothers. He cornered Romano against a small dilapidated wall in the countryside.

“I’m not going back,” Romano spluttered, clutching to the front of his robes. “You-You can’t make me!”

“I wouldn’t presume if I were you,” Austria replied sharply, causing the boy to wince. “Now tell me exactly what France has been saying to you and Portugal.”

“What difference does it make?”

“ _Tell me._ ”

Romano hesitated, fear evident in his eyes but his stubbornness was attempting to win out over it. Austria levelled a glare at the boy and Romano found himself stammering the words out with crumbling bravado.

“H-He said that I was just a gift, something to reinforce the wealth of the Spanish empire. He said that Spain was weakening from within and that the wars were just a façade to keep the empire from collapsing.”

Austria’s eyes narrowed slightly, fists tightening at his sides.

“France said that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bother finding out if he was right?”

“Of course, I did!” Romano retorted. “I told him he was full of it and that Spain knew exactly what he was doing. I waited and I kept listening for news but the more I waited, the more France was right. And then when I heard about Rocroi-”

“ _And?_ Do you have a _good_ reason for staging a rebellion?”

“If Spain really did care, he’d have noticed that France had been visiting here in secret. He’d have known that I’m getting sick and my people are unhappy.”

“Do you realise that _everyone_ is unwell?”

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter if it’s just me or if the entire house is sick! Spain should have noticed! Spain doesn’t _care_ about me or anyone else! I really am just a gift to bolster the stupid Spanish empire, and as much as I hate France, at least he’s _honest_ about it, and-”

Romano’s words promptly stopped with a sharp crack. Austria had backhanded him.

“Do you know what you are?” 

Austria’s voice was quiet and held a slight tremble, dangerous and chilling. Romano touched his cheek and didn’t dare speak, shaking under Austria’s dark glare.

“Do you know exactly what you are? You are a gift. You are my gift to Spain. Do you know what that means? _Do you?_ ”

Austria snapped the question at him. Romano shook his head feverishly.

“What that _means_ is that Spain is your protector, that he became your protector without having to slaughter your people, or burn down their homes, or rape your women. Do you know what you are to him? You are a _gift_. That is exactly what you are. You are treasure immeasurable, you are divine in his eyes, you are salvation. Do you know why?” 

Again, Romano shook his head.

“Because you _exist_.”

His eyes widened.

“Do you know how people many long to take your place, to covet that smile and those arms? Do you? Because if you do and you still wish to be relieved of Spain’s love, I would gladly rip you away from him to take your place if I could. I’d do it without a moment’s hesitation. I’d do it even if it meant I would sacrifice my own people. But I know I can never do that, dear god, because I cannot take your place. Your place is the most important thing on our side of this war, it cannot be swept away or destroyed. It is vital to Spain. Because you, like Italy, are a stupid child, I will overlook this and, more importantly, Spain will overlook this. But so help me, if you ever, ever speak about Spain like that ever again, if you _doubt_ him, if you _hurt_ him, I will sack every single town in your little southern province and _destroy you_. I will eradicate you from existence. Do you understand?”

Romano’s answer wasn’t fast enough and so Austria grabbed him.

“Do you _understand?_ ”

Romano nodded in a slight daze, but his silence was telling. Austria released him and watched him trip over his own feet to return to Spain’s castle.

France. 

His time would come.


	7. Chapter 7

_Too much sea all around. Peculiar thought. Coastal nation._

_Salt in the air. Salt in the veins. Trade via the sea. Vessels coated in salt and salt and more salt. Sugar on the tip of the tongue. Sweetness. Longing. Exotic nostalgia. Denial. Honeyed coins of bee hive gold and sugar trade and_

_blood_

_Damned English. Never could keep their filthy hands to themselves. Allying with **France** of all damned nations. Promise-breakers._

_torn flesh_

_France again. France, again and again and again and again and_

_more blood_

_The sea._

_The sea is calm and calls out. Twenty-four years. The end. So long. So tired. Politics. Damned politics. Marriage and renunciation of inheritance and flimsy promises. France breaks promises. He always has. There will be no surprise._

_It’s war._

_It’s war and these bones ache. So tired. Thoughts of marriage and promises. Surrender. Treaties. Battle. Victory is sugary sweet. France breaks his promise. Defeat tastes like_

_heartache_

_Whither doth England go? Ally now. Sly wastrel. Foolish childish grudge. Ally now whilst battles are at ease and France is. Aix-la-Chapelle. Disgusting word. Divine word. Hither will I rest my_

_France again again **again** damned Sun King damned French damn damn_

_Knew it. **Tasted it.** Knew England would chase after France’s skirt. Greedy damned fools and their insatiable greed wandering hands serves them right the charlatans. King Billy and Sun King deserve each other. Stuarts and Bourbons and fools. These bones ache and this chest is tight; bits and pieces of this self is missing, going, ripping away_

_burnt_

_and then there is this pain right here inside_

_It never ends_

_The sea is warm. Winds blow. Breeze comforts. Salt. Water. Ships docking. Port. Voices. Shouts. Coins and sugar and spice. Trade. Freedom. Water. The New World._

_France again. Hate fighting him. Underhanded. Relentless._

_so close to the end can taste it breathe it touch it_

_The sea. Salty air. Water._

_the turks are coming the turks are coming_

_O’er sea and air come great gulls and galleons of oriental men_

_water_

_the turks are coming_

_**the turks are coming** _

 

 

 

Spain gasped for air as he broke the surface, knuckles white as he gripped the sides of the tub he had been soaking in. He was hunched over, tired and somewhat winded. He coughed the water out of his lungs, sight bleary and unfocused as someone rushed up to him and gently patted a towel over his eyes to clear it. A hand thumped his back but he halted it, shaking his head before raked back his wet hair and slouched back into the tub with a sigh.

“Did you fall asleep _again_ , my lord?”

“I dreamt,” Spain closed his eyes, voice faraway.

“Good dreams, I hope.”

“I don’t remember what those are like anymore,” Spain replied, a slight depreciating smile ghosting across his lips. “They blend together with the waking hours now. I can’t tell them apart. How long since Rocroi?”

“Is that what you dreamt of?”

“Yes.”

“Years, my lord. Half a century, almost.”

“Ah. No wonder it’s still so clear.”

His manservant shot him a concerned, albeit dubious, look.

“Perhaps you need rest, my lord.”

“That’s what the bath is for, Emilio.”

“No, my lord,” he rolled his eyes. “I meant – mental rest. You need to be away from the castle. Hunting perhaps?”

“Blood,” Spain wrinkled his nose, eyes still shut. “Too much of that these days.”

“Song?”

Spain made a long, ambivalent, wishy-washy sound, bringing a palm up and letting it wobble in an undecided manner. His manservant’s gaze sharpened with a frown. 

“My patience wears thin. I wholly insist that you at least leave the grounds. You will kill yourself at this rate, and what an embarrassment t’would be to have drowned to death in one’s own bath tub!”

Spain opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, shooting his servant a mournful look – something dutifully ignored.

“I feel nothing, Emilio.”

“That troubles me the most! I fear all feeling will leave you soon,” his servant knelt by him, hand on his as he met his gaze solemnly and sincerely. “I beg you rest, my lord. I worry for you. You are my life’s devotion. Please do as I say.”

Spain was silent for the longest moment.

“There is just… no one for me to be with. France is-”

“ _France_ as a topic, my lord, is exhausted. We’ve had quite enough of him, don’t you agree?” His expression softened into a smile. “You are not alone. What of Lord Edelstein?”

Spain’s wan expression immediately flared into frantic unhappiness.

“I don’t think he wants to see me.” 

“Nonsense,” his servant became terse again, a scolding look on his face. “Why do you think he and the other allies are here in Barcelona?”

“Because they don’t want me to treat with France.”

“They _care_ about you, my lord,” his servant said emphatically, ignoring a dark whisper of agreement in his heart. “You should recognise that.”

“I don’t know,” Spain sighed softly, sinking further into the tub. “He won’t look me in the eye.”

“It’s war.”

“It’s always war. You are young, Emilio.”

“My lord, what purpose is war if not for peace? Surely when it ends-”

“No, this is what he wants,” Spain closed his eyes. “More war.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he next found himself staring up at the closed doors of his castle with naught but a sabre and a bag of coins on him. He hadn’t even been allowed a thread of finery, clad only in a linen shirt and a pair of breeches. To the layman, he looked as any other freeman of the kingdom.

“Enjoy your day out, my lord!” The shout was smug, from an open window in the gallery of the castle. “We’ll be quite fine without you!”

“Don’t get lost,” another voice joined reproachfully. 

“Don’t follow any strangers!”

“And don’t get into a fight!”

“If you can help it.”

“Miguel!”

 _Smack_. “Ouch!”

“Don’t get into _any_ dishonourable fights!”

“My friends,” Spain called out with honest confusion, gazing up at the higher levels of the castle to catch the slightest glimpse of his attendants. “Why won’t you let me in?”

It was his closest advisor who responded. “You need to get away from the castle and all the politics here, my lord. The allies shield our harbour. Spain will survive without you, so find yourself a nice girl and serenade her!”

Still somewhat confused, Spain stood at the doors a little longer, calling out for his attendants in hopes of being let in, but after some time (and being on the receiving end of a few tossed knickknacks), Spain conceded defeat and, with a degree of dejection, walked away from his castle.

He slouched, barely taking in his surroundings as he traversed the hidden dirt path that led out of the wood and into the vibrant port city. He felt like a foreigner, as though he was not part of this place and it was not of him, as though his soul had been ripped from his body and longed to return to the heart of home. He felt the weight of lethargy upon the shoulders of his people as they went about their daily lives, engaging in trade and chores about the square. War stretched them thin, hunger and plague and inflation were the disease in which the hatred in their hearts festered. Yet, what little strength left to them, they applied only unto which helped them live their lives one more day. He marvelled at the tenacity of the stubborn human will, and all at once wished he could call it his own. These were not his people. He was nothing.

Still.

Nostalgia embraced him as long forgotten scents and sounds came to him. Spain heard, for the first time in a very long time, the bustling sounds of scolding and laughing, of gossip, of selling and buying. Children played tag with each other across the square. Wives tended to their wares. Maids sat with their mothers, talking over needlework. Boys drew water from the wells. Fishermen hauled in their catch from the docks. Knives sliced. Sea fare. Cattle. Flesh. Meat. Bones. Crunch. Sizzle. Chop. _SMACK_.

“Watch where you walk, churl!”

Spain rubbed his shoulder in a slightly disoriented daze, apologizing vicariously to the man he had bumped into. Whereas such a man, under normal circumstances, would have engaged in a brawl, something in Spain’s eyes soothed the ire in him and he grunted something incomprehensible before clearing off. Spain stood there, staring after the back of the man who had long since blended into the crowd. 

The atmosphere trembled with emotion. He felt the tension bubble underneath the surface, threatening to explode. He wondered when it ever would.

His gaze fell upon a pair of children who were watching him curiously. As their eyes connected, the little boy got off the small crate he had been sitting on and walked towards Spain, his sister cautiously following. Spain squatted down. The boy pressed something into his hand. It was a carnation that had just bloomed. Spain gripped the stem and brought it close, inhaling its sweet scent slowly. He opened his eyes to see the children grinning at him and then running off.

A slow smile spread across his face.


	8. Chapter 8

“You _**what!**_ ”

There was a collective wince as Austria slammed his hands down on the table in fury. Hunched over, he glared up at the men, teeth bared in a fury as his brow twitched.

“Do you know why we are even here?” He slammed the table again. “ _Do you?_ ”

“My lord, if I may-”

“ _Still your tongue_ ,” Austria cut in sharply. “To hear that this foolish notion came from you of all people, Emilio, disappoints me. You will be reprimanded harshly, mark my words.”

Spain’s attendant fell silent, lowering his head solemnly.

“After that failure that was Torroella, do you honestly think we can _afford_ to let such a weakling wander about on his own? Do you remember why we allies have gathered in Barcelona? To _protect_ that damned blackguard, and now you’ve set him loose to be kidnapped and ransomed by the French! What’s more, we’re betwixt battles! We are about to lay siege to Namur! You are too clever to be this much a fool, Emilio. I ought to have you tried for high treason.”

Austria, who had been encircling the table in the war room, came to a halt in front of the Spanish servants and glowered quietly.

“Austria, calm down,” England interjected placidly, arms crossed. “They’re children.”

“They’re _men_ , no older than any other soldier,” Austria rejoined.

England shook his head and turned to the servants. “Go fetch him.”

They exchanged uneasy glances with each other. England frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Emilio, he… He was worried, so he decided to follow my lord from a distance.”

England’s expression fell. Austria turned around, slightly horrified.

“He disappeared before my very eyes!” Spain’s attendant blurted out desperately. “I swear to you upon my life, not once did my gaze wander. I shadowed him staunchly throughout the square, but… but then he… he _melted_ away, right in front of me. It was as though his body was a series of overlapped images that slowly parted and became doppelgangers in the crowd, all of whom were completely different from each other. I swear to you, my lord, even on pain of death, I could have outstretched my arm and touched his back with my very hands. I stopped each doppelganger. None of them resembled him in the slightest. I have no clue what sorcery this is, but I promise that this is the truth.” 

“Stop,” Holland sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just stop.”

“He’s blended with the people. One of us will have to go,” England glanced at the other nations. They murmured agreement.

“England and I cannot,” Holland said with finality. England shook his head.

“He is right. This siege is ours to plan. Scotland is fighting, too.”

“If you want me to do it, speak directly,” Austria snapped, already storming out of the war room, slamming the doors open, so consumed by anger. He paid no attention to his surroundings, muttering curses under his breath as he stalked off to the square. He glared across the crowds, hoping to quickly locate Spain so as to return with haste, but fortune was not on his side.

At first he looked wherever his feet took him, and when that yielded nothing he buckled down his irritation and employed a more systematic approach by combing Spain’s most likely haunts. There was no sign of him. As the hours trickled by, Austria could feel the frustration clawing at him and threatening to detonate.

He needed to take a break. Austria loosened his collar as he elbowed his way out of the crowd, taking slow breaths when he finally found himself on a cobbled street corner that had few people. As he scanned the area for tavern, he caught sight of some children seated around a man who was telling stories. He approached with a frown, standing behind the children with crossed arms amongst a few other curious onlookers to listen in on the tales. It was typical fare – he was an adventurer who had been to far-flung lands across the Orient, having done battle with savages and sea creatures of all sorts. Austria rolled his eyes, not ready to leave but reluctant to stay, and that is when he saw who he had been looking for. Spain sat by the children, hugging his knees as he gazed, enraptured, at the storyteller. His eyes shone, a dazzled smile on his face as his mouth parted in anticipation.

Austria felt everything inside him grind to a halt.

Here was a sight he had long since forgotten. Spain’s eyes held a light that Austria hadn’t seen for decades, lost ever since Romano’s brief defection. He was exhausted – they all were after these long, horrible years of war – but more importantly, he was weak, both physically and mentally, swallowed long ago by unhappiness and betrayal that had been plaguing his kingdom. Spain was a fool, unable to discern the root of his discontent, allowing himself to drown in it. 

It repulsed Austria. He forced the distance between them, but not just for this reason.

He was lightly dispelled from his ruminations when a collective gasp echoed amongst the storyteller’s audience. The children each clutched each other and, Austria noted with only the barest traces of mirth, to Spain, who had slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide on the storyteller whose little plot twist had caused them such distress. An ache settled inside him. He felt it cruel that Spain would be the greatest nation on earth before he even comprehended his own power, to lose it before he ever truly knew what he possessed. It hurt his heart.

Austria stopped his thoughts. Best not to go there.

He walked quietly towards Spain and squatted down, a hand on his shoulder, expression as terse as usual, giving Spain a light start. Austria was in the midst of choosing his words when a soft and weak smile blossomed across Spain’s face into a shy grin, and Austria found himself with nothing to say. Spain lowered his hands and hugged his knees again, a withered expression accompanying his smile, gaze drifting warily between Austria’s face and the ground.

“Hi,” he said softly. “Something wrong?”

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” his voice was low and blunt. Spain’s expression faltered, a look of resignation coming over him. Austria hated it. It made him feel as though he had killed a small animal. As he opened his mouth to say something, an outraged shout tore through the air and shook the whole crowd from their story.

“You! You’re the thief who stole my apples! I’ll get you!”

Austria saw, within a split second, Spain’s entire face lighting up with so much _life_ right then. He couldn’t think at all as he felt a tight grip on his wrist yanking him up to his feet and pulling him through the streets in a spirited sprint, weaving in and out of stalls, through alleys and people, all while being shouted at and chased by a fat farmer.

He heard laughter. Spain never once looked back as he darted back and forth, pulling Austria upright whenever he stumbled, and he couldn’t see his face to know for sure. Austria could barely register anything anymore, blood pounding in his ears and legs burning – he hated running, hated anything physical – and that, coupled with the lightheadedness he was feeling, made him certain he was hallucinating the laughter. The happiness. Spain hadn’t been happy. There was no way he was smiling, not when there was nothing to smile about. He felt faint, like he was going to collapse at any second, but any moment of weakness had Spain jerking him up again. If he had any sense, he’d do something about his rudeness. As it were, Austria was sure he was lacking in oxygen.

It seemed like a lifetime before his back smacked against the loose rubble of a low stone wall, leaning against it as he gasped for sweet air. With shaking hands, he loosened the knot of his ascot and undid his collar, trying his best to keep his lungs from collapsing in on him. Spain was beside him, artfully crouched, peeking over the wall for their chasers. After a while, it seemed like they were in the clear. He slid down into a sitting position beside Austria, exhaling slowly in relief. It soon gave way to slight giggles and a wide grin as he met Austria’s thoroughly unhappy (and exhausted) expression.

“I was hungry,” Spain insisted in his defence. “And someone stole my coin purse.”

“It figures,” Austria muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and pinching the corners with his index finger and thumb.

Spain grinned at him again and stretched, cracking a few bones before he let out a content sigh and slouched into a slight recline against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Austria was still catching his breath beside him, earlier misgivings forgotten. He took a page out of Spain’s book and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and trying to calm his racing heart.

“This reminds me of the past,” Spain’s voice held a dreamy quality. It opened Austria’s eyes. _He’s weak, he’s weak, he’s weak_. He couldn’t find it in himself to speak his mind. _Weaklings should stay put and listen to orders._ He couldn’t find it in himself to quash that little well of sympathy he had, even if it was wholly illogical to submit to such fragile feelings. This was war. War had no place for any of this. War especially had no place for empathy, not when it came to something as brittle as alliances. 

“The sun,” Spain’s eyes fluttered and Austria’s stomach twisted. _Don’t listen to him, this is poisonous, why do you care for his feelings._ “… warm enough for a picnic.”

There was a strum of music. Spain’s smile widened and Austria felt the dread stab deeper.

“And there’s music too. Today is really a perfect day, don’t you think? It’s been so long since we’ve been alone together, just spending some time relaxing.”

 _Stop listening to him._ Austria’s mind could no longer process whatever it was Spain was saying at that point, preoccupied only with his lips as he spoke to an inattentive audience. He saw them move to form shapes and sound, neither of which he cared for then, and he stared endlessly as the dread began to spread inside him, like a great wave that swelled with force the longer it was allowed to travel unhindered. He was torn, afraid, unsure of how to broach the subject. He knew he had to be blunt. He was used to it after decades, nay, centuries together. He knew the exact words he would say. He didn’t know _why he couldn’t say them._

Spain glanced at him, taking a pause to assess whether it was safe to keep going. Austria’s expression was faraway, something he hoped was the direct result of the trip down memory lane that Spain was inducing. Austria had been increasingly cold of late and he was happy to see his guard down; even in the briefest of moments it was solace. With much hesitation, Spain inched closer to Austria, carefully closing a hand over his.

“I’m happy we have a little time together before the end,” he began shyly. “It’s almost like you barely have time to even sit and eat anymore.”

Austria mumbled something in response, thoughts not in one place. Spain, out of habit, took this to mean that his reply was whatever he wanted it to mean. He smiled and gently squeezed Austria’s hand. 

“I think I can fight a little longer,” Spain offered. “Since the allies have my back, I should be able to pull through for another campaign. But I guess you’ve already thought about that.”

Spain watched him quietly for a moment before he closed his eyes, shifted forward, and kissed Austria. His free hand cradled the side of Austria’s head, thumb gently caressing his cheek. Austria’s immediate reaction was to stare momentarily, not liking in the least the direction things had taken, but before long his eyes fluttered shut and he was tilting his head to better meet the kiss. 

Spain’s hand slid down from his cheek to Austria’s exposed neck, brushed over his shoulder and press against his chest. The contact made him arch subtly in nostalgia, granting him the barest of tingles that ran along his spine. Soon, Spain was over him, pressing him into the wall as Austria’s hands gripped his sleeve, at first for support. As he began to kiss him more heatedly, tugging him to lay down on the grass, touching him where he was most sensitive, Austria finally found some sense in himself and pulled away.

He slapped Spain in the face.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” 

Spain, predictably, was disoriented and confused, touching his cheek.

“I was kissing you. I didn’t think-”

“You never think, but that’s come to be expected,” Austria was harsh. “You do not touch me outside the bed chambers.”

Spain looked crestfallen.

“I thought you said…”

Austria’s gaze sharpened, daring him to go further. Spain wavered, touching his cheek where he had been slapped, and from where he kneeled, sunk down into a sitting position, eyes wide, expression disturbed, fragile.

“I thought you said you loved me.” 

_I thought you said you loved me._

Oh, what words.

Austria let out a sudden humourless laugh.

“ _Love?_ You actually believed that little joke? That was pillow talk, you fool! I would have promised you the earth and moon if it meant you would stop your blithering quixotism, your wayward lollygagging, your brazenly _stupid_ awkwardness – just because you were too thick to accept the fact that you will be wed to another again and again and _again_ , regardless of how you feel or what you want. I accepted this fate a long time ago and I would not put up with an ally who refused to look me in the eye because he or she was bonded with me out of politics. If I had to scatter the word _love_ to twist you into being more agreeable, I would have done it a thousand times over. And I did. It is _done_. You are done. We will be done.”

Spain stared at Austria, completely in shock as he tried to come to terms with what he had just been told. Somewhere, deep in the pit of his gut, there was a rage that threatened to roar out, to grab Austria, to strangle him to death for this… this _betrayal_. This was betrayal of the highest order. His hand slipped from his cheek to his chest, gripping his shirt over his heart as the ache burned on in a perfect shining wrath. A solemn feeling of complete hurt engulfed him then, dousing the rage completely in a sea of sorrow. What Romano had done to him had stung, of that there was no doubt. However, that sting could not compare in the slightest to the blow that Austria had just dealt him. The lie. The one lie that had mattered above all else.

Spain squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head.

“… I’m ready to go back now.”


	9. Chapter 9

The return trip was painful in its silence, worse still as the pain twisted at his heart. Austria’s words echoed in his head, only they did not diminish with time. Every single word was barbed and impeccably aimed. Every word burned him. Except for the one. 

_Done._

_You are done. We will be done._

What could that mean?

Spain wanted so desperately to understand, but the words refused to register and it remained far beyond his grasp. He knew now that their union had been wholly political without any reciprocated feelings, but that was, by no means, any grounds for an… _annulment_ … could it? Surely not. Surely Austria would not end their relationship after 200 years for such a reason, for if it were the case, why would he pretend for so long? The implications made his veins turn ice cold with unease. Spain felt ill.

As they approached the castle, they saw a large carriage in front of the door, nearly all the servants they had fussing over it. Spain watched wordlessly, uncertain of what was going on, but soon followed after Austria when he moved to enter. One of his personal servants perked up on sight of them and hurried over, immediately fretting over them in an uncharacteristic panic.

“Calm yourself,” Austria finally voiced in agitation. “What is all the commotion about?”

He paled. “My lord, it’s our guest.”

A hush came over the entire crowd as footsteps resonated through the chamber. A way parted as the servants bowed deeply. Red and white robes swayed, shimmering under the light. Austria bowed promptly, but Spain was too surprised to.

“What are you doing here?”

The pope quirked a brow and smiled in that empathic manner of his as he proceeded to bow to the nations, much deeper than Austria had. His entire entourage followed suit.

“Your Lordships. It is a pleasure.”

“Pardon our rudeness. Were we informed of your visit, we would have prepared a much grander welcome, Your Holiness,” Austria rolled his eyes and yanked Spain into a slight bow. “And you’ll remember that his lacking in manners is a trait.”

“It is good that Antonio does not change,” the pope replied, amused. 

“Nevertheless, to what do we owe the honour of your visit?”

“Whatever else, Roderich? To answer our Lord’s calling. There is much business to attend to what with, ah, some pending incidents, wouldn’t you say?” The pope’s gaze was meaningful just then, both eyebrows raised pointedly. Austria paused a moment, frowning as he slowly nodded.

“Oh, is this about Martinitz?” Spain interjected, a smile creeping up on his face. The pope cursed under his breath.

“Please don’t say his name, Antonio. By our Heavenly Father, that wastrel will want for the breast of his mother by the time we are through. I’ve written a letter to the emperor and we will see if that doesn’t sort the churl out.”

“That speech is not very becoming of the _pope_ , Holiness,” Austria chided.

“Compared to Borgia, I am a _saint_ , unlike some individuals I care to mention.” There was an awkward cough amongst the cardinals and an ensuing pause. The pope harrumphed impatiently. “Your dalliances have reached even my ears, Antonio, a great feat if you bear consideration to the immense efforts of censorship on behalf of my colleagues. I would remind you of your station and that whatever liaisons you cultivate effect a greater sphere of people than you may imagine.”

“Dalliances?” Spain looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Ay, this game. If what that Martinitz has been bellowing is true, I would suppose you’ve been fooling about with that frog-”

“Your Holiness is surely tired,” Austria was quick to pull Spain away from the conversation. “And we are unsuited for talk in such dirty clothes as these. Please, do go and freshen up and we will do the same. We shall sup together, no doubt. Let us speak further then.”

The pope’s bewilderment gave way to a terse and unappreciative understanding. 

“It would certainly be unwise to continue such a conversation in these halls, however I would have you remember that my patience frays. I am tried for my tolerance towards the unchristian nature of the… _union_ of like-gendered nations, but I will draw that reluctant line there and no further. It is enough for me to bear the earthly sins of men, but if I am to bear the earthly sins of nations, you will find that the church fosters little desire for heathen peace.”

He gestured towards his cardinals and made to leave. “Good day.”

“And to you,” Austria bowed, pulling Spain down to follow suit.

When the pope and his entourage had gone, Austria turned to his attendant.

“You’ve calmed down now, I hope?”

“Not in the least,” he responded, thoroughly flustered. “The _pope_ is here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He is an honoured guest, not our lord Jesus. Treat him as such. I suspect he will remain with us for a while.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell the others to draw water for baths. No doubt the other guests will want to groom themselves for tonight as well. Prepare our finest silver.” He turned to Spain and shot him a disapproving look. 

“You’d do well to present yourself appropriately lest you wish my ire aroused.” Austria paused mid-step and turned to Spain, adding as an after thought, “Oh, and should there be further concerns, seek out my Konrad. Emilio is being disciplined this fortnight.”

He left the chamber and entered one of the long corridors of the castle. The heavy rush of feet followed him, Spain jogging to keep up with his long strides. He was flushed and upset.

“What did he mean by dalliances?”

“Never you mind,” Austria replied sharply, increasing his steps. Spain caught up.

“He said there are rumours about me! I want to know what they are. You know, don’t you?”

“Such trifles are vulgar. You’d do well not to associate with them.”

“ _You_ do.”

Austria didn’t reply. That had been a well-aimed response and he refused to admit it stung.

“Why does he think I’m having an affair?” Spain asked desperately. 

Horror entered his eyes. 

“Are… Are _you_ having an-”

“Don’t you _dare_ utter such words,” Austria shot back venomously. 

Spain fell silent. 

Austria walked straight up to Spain, causing the other nation to retreat by several hesitant steps until his back was pressed up against a wall. Towering menacingly, he jabbed a finger into Spain’s collarbone several times, punctuating each point he made as he spoke sharply.

“You may run that mouth of yours however you wish because your words are _empty_ and bear little import to me, but know this: no matter what you ascribe to my character, as little as I _care_ , my principles are rooted in faith and birthright. Whatever I do by way of alliances is no concern of yours, union notwithstanding, for it is done with the confidence of my sovereign lord and not your affections. You no longer have the right to rule me, neither have you any more power, so I suggest you start _shutting up_ and obeying like the cretin you are if you want to survive the next few years mostly unscathed. _Never speak of France again._ ”

Austria straightened his back and breathed deeply, eyes fixed on Spain.

“Never… speak of France again.” It was a threat.

Spain, being Spain – either due to his lack of awareness or his complete disregard for such threats – stared after Austria, a slight tremble to his lip and to his voice, but without an ounce of fear or hesitation, he merely asked one thing.

“So you _are_ having an affair?”

It fell silent once more.

Austria was dumbfounded.

“I… That is to say…” His mind was utterly blank. Of all the things he had calculated, this never had entered his equation. Was Spain _this_ much an idiot or was he, in fact, a genius? Incredulous laughter almost overtook him then, and Austria did admit that he had to force down the smile that twitched at the corners of his lips, when he let slip words that he had meant to keep locked away. 

“No.”

Spain’s eyes widened, and then Austria’s in realisation.

“Not that it matters if I did!” Was hurriedly tacked on. “Not that it will ever be your concern.” Shit, shit, shit. How to remedy this? Austria forced himself to calm down, straightening the lapels of his jacket. “Perhaps those rumours are of an affair _to come_.” He chanced a glance at Spain and felt relief; his expression had grown worried once more and he was chewing on his lower lip.

“If you aren’t having an affair, then why…?”

Austria groaned inwardly. Spain was no genius, just a blithering fool. He was contemplating further action when he heard a light cough and a clearing of the throat. Turning around, he felt enormous relief beset him. The prince bowed with a click of his heel.

“Your Lordship.”

“Eugene. Finally, someone who won’t disappoint me.”

“Of… Of course,” Eugene responded with a slightly strange look as Spain’s expression grew despondent. “I apologise if my timing is inopportune but I have some news regarding the Turks.”

“No, your timing is perfect. What of them?”

“My sources tell me that the Russians are planning a second attack on Azov, and this time, it seems they may actually succeed. The Turks are beginning to weaken. The time to strike grows ripe.”

“Do you have any designs in mind?”

“Well, seeing as the French are less keen to participate this time around, I had my eye on Zenta. The Turks may have gotten their claws on Belgrade, but with my stratagem, I feel it would be entirely within our reach to reclaim Bosnia.”

Austria raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Once our siege on Namur is ended I am sure-”

“France!” Spain suddenly shouted, rushing forward and grabbing the front of Austria’s jacket with both hands, eyes wide and desperate. “It’s France, isn’t it? He thinks I’ve been dallying with France! I haven’t, I swear to you! I’ve been faithful, I would _never_ go behind your back to form an alliance with him-”

“Stop,” Austria squeezed his eyes shut in a mix of irritation and resignation, a palm up to form a boundary between their faces. Spain hesitated but finally released Austria, muttering an apology. 

“What did I just say?” He grumbled as he smoothed his clothes. He exhaled sharply.

“I know you didn’t. You don’t have the cunning for anything like that,” Austria was critical and Spain was unsure of whether he should feel relieved or hurt. “What’s happened is beyond you. Once again, as I advise and am consistently ignored, just shut up and obey. Things will pass as they should, god help me.”

Spain looked like he didn’t understand, but Austria was not forthcoming. He soon wordlessly conceded the conversation with a nod. With a wavering smile, he nodded to Eugene and disappeared down the hall where one of his attendants received him. Austria released a sigh at his departure, shaking his head and removing his spectacles to wipe with a handkerchief. The prince glanced at where Spain had been last before he settled on Austria, watching him pensively as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I’m afraid I must speak, Your Lordship.”

“As if anyone, least of all myself, could ever stop you, Your Highness.”

“I am not aware of what your intentions may be, but my impression was that you were far harsher than required,” Eugene spoke frankly but scrupulously. “Is it not in your favour to be kinder to _him_ especially?”

Austria let out a long suffering sigh as he replaced his spectacles on his nose.

“I think there are far more important matters to attend to, Your Highness.”

“Please,” Eugene smiled faintly. “There is no higher a cause than that of the fatherland’s.”

“I suppose if you must put it that way,” Austria eyed him warily. 

Eugene was quiet a moment. “What are you planning, Your Lordship?”

“This again,” Austria scoffed. “I plan nothing. It is you princes and generals who plot, not I. No, I only follow, young prince. Some times, I may even dispense advice but unfortunately it often falls upon deaf ears.”

“I would hear it.”

Austria frowned at Eugene.

“… what advice would you have me give?”

“Tell me the wisdom behind your _cunning_ puppetry of what does and does not reach the ears of our Spanish lord.”

Austria gave him a look that caused Eugene’s grin to widen, but the prince spoke not a word, awaiting a reply that came only too unwillingly a minute after.

“I fear my answer will not satisfy you.”

“We will not know until I hear it.”

Austria let out a frustrated sigh. “These are dire straits and the very ground we tread is fragile in every sense. Court intrigue has no place for that simpleton and if he so much as tilts the balance out of our favour by even the most minute of scales, we stand to lose more than just our dignity. I will not have him stirring up problems, especially where it may not concern him. There. Are you satisfied?”

Eugene smiled once more and walked slowly to Austria’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

“I’m afraid you haven’t the ability to manipulate my strings, Your Lordship.”

Austria’s expression darkened. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“I am no simpleton. I have no desire to curry your favour. You need not lie so elaborately to me.”

“I did not lie,” Austria said with ire. Eugene laughed.

“I know you did not. Perhaps I would be more accurate in saying that you needn’t weave such webs for my sake, but rather for the sake of a certain godly man whose words hold much sway in a rather earthly court, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Him. Of course.”

Eugene smiled and bowed, adding thoughtfully

“Our Spanish lord may be simple, but I’ve no doubt that he has the right to know of how we princes and generals toy with his fate, if at least he is given no right to partake in the squabble. And if France is your cause…”

“ _Do not speak to me of France!_ ” Austria snapped, more sharply than he intended. A moment passed and he breathed slowly in an attempt to calm himself down, eyes not quite meeting the prince’s face.

“I apologise, Your Highness. I… forgot myself.”

Eugene’s smile curved. He slowly encircled Austria, hands still clasped behind him. “Yes, your behaviour has been consistently upset of late, Your Lordship. Not very credible in court.”

“My profoundest apologies,” Austria ground out.

Eugene tutted and gave his nose a playful pinch.

“Do not become so accustomed to abuse towards such a hapless victim, Your Lordship. Forget yourself once too often and you may end up practicing that abuse elsewhere without realising it, against far more intimidating a foe… as we have just seen.”

He flashed Austria a brilliant grin before turning to leave.

“I look forward to your little display with His Holiness this dinner. But even more so, I do so look forward to your proposal regarding an invasion of Zenta. Pleasant evening, Your Lordship!”

“And you, Your Highness,” Austria sighed to no one in particular as the doors swung shut behind the prince.


	10. Chapter 10

_Treaty bet-ween_ England, France and Holland, _commonly called,_ the first treaty of partition, _concluded_ August 19, 1698.

 

V. The crown of Spain, and the other kingdoms, islands, states, countries and places, which at present depend thereon, shall be given and assigned to the prince, oldest son to the elector of Bavaria […]

X. The king of Spain coming to die without issue, and the abovesaid case by that means happening, the two kings, and the States General, do oblige themselves to leave the whole succession in the condition it shall then be, without seizing thereof in the whole, or in part, directly or indirectly; but each prince shall and may forthwith, put himself in possession of what is assigned him for his share, as soon as he shall, on his part, have complied with the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th articles preceding: and if there be any difficulty therein, the two kings, and the States General, shall use all possible endeavours, to the end that each one may be put into possession of his portion, according to this agreement, and that the same may have its full effect; engaging to give, by sea and by land, the succours and aids of men and ships as are necessary to compel, by force, those that shall oppose the execution thereof. […]

XIV. If any prince whatsoever oppose the taking possession of the shares agreed on, the said two kings, and the States General, shall be obliged to assist one another againstsuch opposition, and to hinder the same with all their power; and it shall be agreed, immediately after the signing of this present treaty, in what proportion each is to contribute, as well by sea as by land.

XV. The present treaty shall be ratified and approved by the said two kings, and the States General; and the letters of ratification shall be exchanged within the space of three weeks, or sooner, if possible, to be computed from the day of the signing.

In witness whereof we have signed these presents, and, sealed the same with our coats of arms. Made at the Hague, the 11th day of October, 1698. 

 

Signed,

_Camille de Hojlrang, John Becker,_

_Count de Tallard, J- Vander Does,_

_Portland, W. Vanharen,_

_William Francis Verbolt, Ar. Lemker,_

_F.B.de Reede, And_

_A. Heinfius, J. de Dr ewes._


	11. Chapter 11

Spain entered the veranda gracefully, expression sober as walked right up to the banister to grip the handrails, gazing artlessly over the landscape. Behind him, the door slammed shut angrily after Austria, once again in a tirade. 

“How could you be so trusting of that conniving, fatuous, pompous _frog-_ ” 

Spain sighed softly and turned, leaning back against the rails.

“I have Catalonia again,” Spain interrupted Austria evenly. “And Luxembourg, and Chiney, and Mons, and Charleroi, and Aeth, and Courtrai. And the war is over. A promise of good faith and trust isn’t such a stretch, wouldn’t you agree?”

“He’s planning something,” Austria replied sharply, jabbing the air.

“He’s not the only one.”

Austria started, eyes narrowing shortly after.

“If you are insinuating something…”

Spain sighed again with a shrug, taking aimless steps towards Austria, gingerly patting his shoulder.

“My young prince has just died and my old king is on the cusp of it. Let me mourn in peace.”

“Mourn!” Austria slapped Spain’s hand away. “While you mourn, France installs his own monarch on the Spanish throne!”

“The _Habsburg_ throne,” Spain corrected, expression still cool. 

“Your military is shambles,” Austria underscored with a growl. “A coup is waiting to happen.”

Spain laughed at that, as though it was a rather good joke. The chuckles slowly died off with a sigh and Spain’s smile did not quite reach his eyes, still forlorn and very tired. He rapped the glass of the window slightly and his attendant emerged from the shadows.

“Draw the curtains,” he gestured up at the heavy velvet drapes that had been pulled back against the wall where the antechamber was partitioned from the veranda. “Then leave us.”

Curtains drawn closed now, they were completely isolated from the rest of the Holland’s castle, having availed themselves of the veranda in the very back of it. The curtains were heavy and stifled any and all sound, and unless a passing servant would come by them through the grounds, something highly unlikely as Spain’s orders for privacy stood, they were alone. 

“What is it?” Austria finally asked, an uncomfortable edge to his tone.

“The court isn’t very happy with the Emperor. I just thought you should know.”  
“That is not all, surely,” Austria grew irritated. 

Spain scowled, tone clipped, “It’s significant”. 

“Our bond of kinship should withstand the lashings of a French tongue.”

“Oh?” Spain crossed his arms. “The lashings of a French tongue have been rather honeyed compared to the disdain of Austrian kin.”

“Is there no one else you can talk about but _France-_ ”

“France has been kind to me and your _emperor_ curses my name.”

“Leopold has always been a fool,” Austria insisted bluntly. “And Louis is a serpent.”

“And Charles is an invalid, and I bear him no ill will, but Leopold’s words have hurt _even_ my king. If your sole argument is the issue of kinship, then I’m afraid even France and I are bonded in some way. Unless the Austrians lower their heads, their noses will be snapped off like twigs when the time comes.”

“ _What?_ ” Austria was incredulous. “You accuse my people of arrogance?”

“Leopold is their sovereign lord and their representative.”

“How dare you, after all we’ve ever done for the sake of your kingdom-”

“You do not rule me.”

Austria closed his mouth.

“Isn’t that the aim of your emperor? To install another Habsburg, to obey the choices of his dynasty? Does he forget to whom the Austrians owe their continued longevity, to whose armies they owe their dignity? Have _you_ forgotten?”

Fists clenched Austria forced himself to look Spain in the eye as he ground the words out.

“… No. I haven’t.”

“Good,” Spain let out a breath as he half-seated himself on the rails, resting his head slightly against a column. “This entire affair of partitioning the Spanish kingdom while Charles still _lives_ is something I am extremely angry with. Your part in all of this is transparent, thank god for _that_.” Spain was being sarcastic and Austria didn’t want to admit that it _hurt_. “That being said… obviously, after all this time I would like to remain with you, but your people are not making it easy.”

Austria unclenched his fist. “I’ve told them but no one heeds my words.”

“No one that matters, you mean,” Spain sighed again.

Austria was thoroughly unhappy with the detached manner with which Spain had begun addressing the issue of politics. It was Austria’s fault undisputedly, but to hear the lack of affection in his tone was scathing. He had been wise in withholding as much information from Spain while he could, but after the treaty and with Charles’ impending death, it was inevitable that Spain would be made aware of all the goings-on in one way or another. That Austria had not managed to sway Spain in his favour early on was something he would never forgive himself for.

Through the uncomfortable silence, Spain watched Austria pensively until he could wait no more. He walked up to Austria, carefully side-stepping to slowly circle him.

“Reparations are required.”

Austria closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, shifting his weight to his right foot. 

“If it were possible, it would have been done long ago, fool.”

“Hm,” Spain’s response was noncommittal, but he inched closer to Austria’s back and smartly curled an arm around his body, palm flat against his stomach, pulling him in so they were pressed up against each other. Spain pressed his lips to Austria’s ear, carefully observing the shock at the intimacy.

“France invited me to his bed.”

Austria lowered his hands and turned to meet Spain’s eyes, completely alarmed.

“What… What did you say?”

Spain shrugged and dipped his head, pulling down the tightly wrapped cravat with his free hand and nipping the nape of his neck. He ran his tongue up along his throat and kissed the base of his jaw as his other hand began to glide upwards slowly, resting on Austria’s chest. He guided Austria’s face closer and kissed him fully on the mouth.

Austria was tense, unresponsive, probably still waiting for a verbal response.

Spain exhaled softly and took a seat on the chaise, taking Austria’s hand and tugging gently for him to follow. Austria did not.

“I said I’d think about it,” Spain finally complied. “I believe it’s your duty to change my mind.”

Austria hesitated visibly. Spain tugged him again. 

“Sit.” 

It was only after a long pause that Austria slowly did so, placing himself uncomfortably on the edge of the chaise as he gripped his knees with both hands. His mind was reeling. The mere thought that Spain would lie with France made his skin crawl and, loath as he was to admit it, he knew it was a scenario that he would face with utmost certainty once the time was right. He had prepared for it for years already – the fracas with the pope years past had only served to confirm his suspicion of French succession – and nothing he did now would change it. Even if he managed to recapture the Spanish heart, nothing would come of it. He could do nothing. France would still _win_.

He had begun to chew on his bottom lip in worry when fingers crept up his back and pressed him down onto the chaise by the shoulders, propped against the cushions. Spain crawled on top of him, expression impassive, but his eyes were trained on the titillating hint of skin that was barely visible under Austria’s collar. He hooked his finger in the knot of his cravat and began to loosen it, other hand pushing away his jacket. Austria hesitated for a long moment before he swallowed and, with hands that were deceptively steady, reached forward to undo Spain’s doublet. Spain leaned forward and kissed him again, opening his mouth with his own, and as it intensified, Austria reluctantly shrugged off his clothes.

Breathing was starting to become more of a chore for Austria as Spain kissed down each exposed inch of flesh, lips following the trail of his hands as he slowly unbuttoned Austria’s shirt. His eyes wandered, a sense of shame engulfing him. The veranda was not fully covered, of course, and the wide sky was completely visible in all its splendour. He watched the clouds roll and swell, like the beating of the ocean, and when Spain raised himself up and overtook his line of sight, Austria felt his chest constrict.

Spain’s clothes hung loosely, undone, and his thin body was imperfect with scars and wounds that had not healed completely. A deep gash ran through his right side just by his stomach, the skin around it dark and unsightly, flesh itself a mess of veins and burns. It still looked tender, raw. Austria suddenly straightened up in alarm, but the hand on his chest kept him down. His eyes alternated between Spain’s face and the wound, and Austria tentatively reached out to touch it with his fingertips. Spain shivered at the contact, brows furrowing.

“When did this happen?”

“It was the Siege of Barcelona.”

“Was,” Austria echoed, questioning.

“Shh,” Spain whispered, pressing against Austria and silencing him with a kiss. Austria pushed him back.

“The siege was 2 years ago. Why has the wound reopened?”

“Riots in Madrid,” Spain took Austria’s hand in his own and guided it down to his breeches. Austria reddened. “They’ve only just ended. Comfort me.”

Austria swallowed again and lowered his gaze to Spain’s groin, using both hands to unfasten Spain’s breeches. As they slipped down his thighs, he heard Spain sigh above him in relief, and he pressed onwards. His eyes were half-closed as he held Spain’s cock with both his hands. His mouth felt dry. It had been a long time. His touch was light, worried now that there was a recovering injury on Spain’s person, and as he glanced up at Spain’s face, concentrated and aching with his eyes closed and his brows knitted, he felt, knew that this was what Spain wanted, what he needed. His pace was slow and gentle, ultimately teasing, but Spain didn’t urge him faster. Austria let out a shuddered breath, feeling hot and stifled and trapped.

Fingers skimmed the hem of his own breeches and began to undo them. He didn’t realise that he had began to gyrate into the touch, groaning softly once Spain had him in his hands. Spain toyed with the head of cock, slowly and softly, just like he had been doing to him. In a sudden moment of clarity, he turned his head.

“The coup, when I said it, when you laughed. Was it then, was it the riots?”

Spain smiled. It was thin and had no joy in it. Austria shivered.

Even though they moved slowly, everything after that point was like a flurry of sights and sounds and sensations. They were completely naked on the chaise, Spain kissing him as though they were in ecstasy, one hand on the back of the chaise and the other pressing Austria’s leg back as he drove into his body, hot and rough and frantic. Austria couldn’t breathe. He had a hand gripping Spain’s hair as tight as a vice, crushing their mouths together, moaning into the kiss. They were both much quieter than usual, and it seemed only right because everything seem so much more intense than it had ever been. Neither spoke. They broke apart with a gasp, lungs burning for air, and as Austria tried to recover, he felt his vision whiten. Spain’s hips stopped moving and they shifted. They were on their sides now, Spain’s back against the chaise’s, and Austria’s against Spain’s chest. Spain held Austria’s leg up by the knee, his chin in the crook of his neck and his face buried in his hair. Austria gripped the seat of the chaise with one hand and gripped Spain’s cock with the other, positioning it and guiding it back into him. Spain began to thrust into him powerfully. Austria moaned and rolled his head to the side.

He barely felt his own body anymore – everything around him was the sensation of Spain’s flesh, his lips and his teeth and his tongue toying with his skin, his fingers digging into him, his breath, hot and wet and harsh, caressing his ears. He felt himself slipping away into a white void, barely able to see as his spectacles clung to him desperately before the pounding cadence forced them off, skittering on the ground. Spain was being rough and Austria knew it, knew it but somehow was not in his own body to feel it, time suddenly coming in spasms of seconds, inching by incredibly slowly. 

He could time the exact moment, the exact second when Spain climaxed. His voice, however small and unwilling, shuddered higher and higher until it gave way to a long and soft groan. He moved faster and panted harder and his fingernails dug so much into Austria’s thigh that it broke his skin. He didn’t let himself go immediately, no, Austria was the one who rocked into orgasm first, and his muscles tightened, Spain came inside him with a deep and lingering thrust. They collapsed against each other on the chaise, eyes closed, catching their breaths. As the blood in their ears began to settle, time slowly resumed its regular course and Austria felt himself return to his body. He felt hypersensitive and trembled when Spain’s tongue licked away a drop of sweat from his throat. In a moment of escaped tenderness, Austria twined his fingers with Spain and rested. He gazed at the shadows cast by the flickering candle as a chill picked up and whispered across their bare skin. The nights here were ever dark, still dawn would come. But not yet.

 

His mind had begun to settle drowsily as they remained in that position but Spain eventually moved away from the embrace, causing him to stir. Austria watched him through half-lidded eyes, sweat on his body not yet even dry, as he fished his clothes from the floor and began to dress himself.

“You must be desperate for the French to keep away,” Spain broke the silence as he hitched up his breeches and began to button them. “For you to let me touch you outside the bed chambers.”

Austria said nothing to that, fully aware that those words were meant to hurt, but he was numb to them. He’d only know much later that he should have said something then, something to mend the scar he’d caused in Spain’s heart. He said nothing, consumed by shame and guilt and hatred for the French, the thought that France would take Spain by the hand and cradle him in his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching a fist. He wanted no part of it, but this was beyond even him now.

Once Spain was completely decent, he glanced at Austria and sighed, taking his jacket and gently throwing it onto his naked body.

“Wash up and wear your finest yellow for tomorrow.”

Austria took the jacket and sat up slowly.

“Yellow?”

“For mourning.”

Austria look puzzled for a moment. There were no deaths to mourn but for the Prince of Bavaria, but his death had come a time ago. As Spain drew the curtain back to step through it, he felt his heart stop. A chill ran down his spine.

“Wait. Wait, Spain! Come back!”

_Don’t go._

His shouts were unacknowledged.

Dawn came.


	12. Chapter 12

Austria felt the icy stab of cruelty for the first time in a long time as the pope and his cardinals joined him at breakfast, and, without much ado, presented him the contract of the annulment of the union between Spain and himself. It looked like it had been prepared a long time ago and Spain’s signature had already been collected. 

The whole affair left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was with a frown that he helplessly forced himself to sign it. This was his due. It was his fault for abandoning the Spanish in favour of exacting vengeance on the French. His so-called vengeance had been an endeavour in failure. 

He was a failure.

He did not see Spain at all except for the embarrassingly scarce funeral procession later in the evening. They could afford no mass for the invalid king, and it was just as well as it seemed that there was little care for him now that was dead. He could see the quiet fury in Spain’s eyes at the embarrassingly public disrespect to his dead king, but he was otherwise silent. The political tension that had been threatening to explode was frothing away into nothingness. 

A French prince would be the King of Spain. It had been writ. It was all over.

Austria sat with his emperor and their courtiers in a grim and unhappy silence as the servants outside their quarters bubbled with excitement for the upcoming coronation. He was deeply unsatisfied and, dare he say it, _hurt_ at the way things had turned out. It had ended without him prepared, with him completely unaware of what was to be. Charles’ death had come far too soon and Austria was not _ready_. Spain had kept it from him and he had no right to fault him for his actions. Austria had practically begged for it. Austria had pushed him too far away.

He wondered to what extent their last night together had been used as a weapon against his heart as much as it had been to say goodbye. Austria couldn’t accept it. But what could he do now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

France had won.

There were whispers of wretchedness in his heart that clouded his mind.

“…I suppose,” Emperor Leopold grumbled with great reluctance, “That we should prepare a gift for the new king.”

Their ministers and courtiers mumbled amongst themselves. Some of them nodded. Most of them said nothing.

Austria rose slowly from his seat.

“No.”

All eyes turned to him.

Leopold let out an impatient breath, “Roderich, it is ended.”

“Never,” his words were sharp and clear. “The Spanish Queen is for our cause. Half of Spain is for our cause. It has been Habsburg for more than 200 years and I will not now allow France to usurp it. Not ever. I will surrender to no French charlatan, will not let Spain succumb to his _lies._ ”

With a burning in him that bloomed from hatred and hurt and longing, Austria addressed the phantom shadows in his heart where it was dark, dark and for all of him dark, but for the single ray of faith that penetrated the shadows, light finally entered, accompanied by regret but, above all, determination. His all-consuming vengeance had poisoned the love in his heart, but no more.

“Spain is _mine._ ”

  

  

  

* * *

  

  

  

  

~~Let others wage war~~

  

I wage this war for myself.

\- Roderich Edelstein, Protector of Austria

  

  

  


End file.
